


Push The Sky Away

by CaptainSlow



Series: Coming Back To You Universe [6]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24895735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSlow/pseuds/CaptainSlow
Summary: How come his life has taken such an unexpected turn? And when did Richard start to take such a significant part in it, so much so that Paul's very first thought the moment the news of his prospects of becoming a father was broken to him was directed at no one other but Richard, a compulsive desire to run and find refuge in his arms.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers
Series: Coming Back To You Universe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785925
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	Push The Sky Away

_I got a feeling I just can't shake  
I got a feeling that just won't go away  
You've got it, just keep on pushing, and keep on pushing, and  
Push the sky away. *©_

**Paul**

**_*_ **

He can't quite recall the journey to Richard's place, not in any vivid detail anyway – it is as if his memory has somehow got holes in it, like an old patchwork quilt with considerable chunks of the previous twenty-four hours missing from it. He believes it is mainly because he has spent the major part of the past twenty-four hours drinking himself into an oblivion which he hoped would be blissful but which miserably failed to become such.

His memory issues are not all that important, though – what the hell does it matter how he's got here at all, the point is – he _is_ here, right in front of Richard's front door, somewhere in the middle between still pissed and already hungover, and, to add insult to injury, soaked to the bone by the steady drizzle outside and cold. What he is certain of is that he needs Richard right now, the intensity of this need so strong it is nigh on smothering him. Even in his inebriated condition, he is still surprised by how godawfully urgent his desire to see Richard, be with him, feel him, is. It's hard to think coherently, let alone analyse anything, but it's also hard to ignore the fact that, even as he's ringing the doorbell, barely able to stay upright – shit, he's pretty much still plastered, after all – there's a mixture of primarily three emotions swirling inside of him, none of them all too pleasant and all of them triggering an even greater craving for Richard's company.

It's been a couple of weeks since the man in question made his appearance back in the East Berlin, but for some reason the emotion caused by his return is still fresh and raw, refusing to let Paul go. It's mainly associated with the feeling of being abandoned, confusion and resentment and concern all mixed in one, desire to see him and to have him and to be had by him growing more compulsive the longer they remained separated. He was angry, too, not really understanding why Richard's departure was evoking it to such a profound extent, but angry all the same. Back then, Paul forbade himself to even think about it, suspecting there was possibly way more to this feeling than he had initially bargained for when he had all but coaxed Richard into kissing him back in that stinky bathroom of one of the clubs in the East Berlin a little less than two years ago. Paul kept asking himself what the hell it even mattered if Richard was gone or not, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach be damned. He could find someone else to scratch that itch which occasionally but persistently demanded a masculine body entangled with his own – hell, that was mere physiology, wasn't it? Desire to fuck and be fucked, what did it matter who did it to him, Richard couldn't be the only suitable option, right? There were lots of other men and dicks came in all shapes and sizes if that was what he truly needed from his encounters with Richard, which, by the moment he made his run to the West, had become increasingly frequent. Yet, somehow, it turned out there must have been something that only the two of them had shared, which made Paul rather indifferent to other men and other dicks, which in its turn made Richard's sudden disappearance even harder to deal with.

On the heels of this realisation, there is another one, too, one spurred by far from pleasant memories of a totally different set of hands on him, no less masculine than Richard's but way less gentle. Hell, not gentle at all. It is something Paul's not keen on remembering but the recollection still haunts him even though, just like he told Richard, that unfortunate encounter of his technically was consensual. It's not even the physical discomfort which hurt the most but the psychological one, the feeling of humiliation and helplessness at the hands of someone who didn't give a single damn about him while what Paul desperately wanted at that moment was an utterly different encounter with an utterly different person, so much more caring and affectionate. Ever since then, he's been trying to banish the entire incident from his memory and get rid of the nasty aftertaste of it, both literally, as it still seems he's able to taste the bitter slimy semen at the back of his throat, and figuratively, as he wants to substitute the unpleasant recollections by those made with one person who's always known how to make it nice. A hell of a lot of nice. _Heavenly_. He might not agree with Richard in certain matters and there is a substantial list of things Paul doesn't particularly like about the man, but as far as sex is concerned, Richard surely knows what he's doing, being the most passionate, tender and sensitive lover Paul has ever had in his life.

So, standing here in front of Richard's front door, he direly needs all those things Richard knows how to do to him to make him feel good and wipe the damn memories of that unwanted night out of his mind for good.

And then there's also another matter which makes him seek Richard, for the sake of his company, or advice, or understanding, or perhaps reassurance that the world isn't going to end, and the matter is Paul's unexpected prospects of becoming a father. Unexpected is perhaps the wrong word to use in the current circumstances – after all, this is what to be expected when one gets way too careless between the sheets. Paul doesn't know how he's feeling about the news at all, more lost and confused rather than anything else, terrified by the turn his life has suddenly taken and far from knowing how he's going to handle it. He suspects there is the only right way to handle it but it's also the way he's never envisioned for himself, not in the foreseeable future, anyway.

All of this rolled in one, and here Paul is, wasted and having trouble staying upright while ringing Richard's doorbell relentlessly, seeking refuge in the only way he knows how, in the company of the only person who could possibly give it to him, seeking companionship and understanding and passion and tenderness and consolation and everything else Richard will be willing to give him. God knows, Paul needs all of it right now, shame mixed with regret mixed with hurt mixed with desire mixed with fear and longing so strong he's nearly suffocating.

Paul all but barges inside once the door is opened, without having the slightest notion that it might be someone else behind it instead of Richard. As it turns out, he's in luck tonight as it is his long-time lover's arms he ends up wrapped into a moment later, the feeling of them around his waist so familiar he can't contain a moan, muffling it into Richard's mouth before the man has a chance to let out a single syllable out of it. Drunk as he is, Paul still manages to push his way inside, pressing himself into Richard's warm accommodating body. It truly feels like a fucking blessing, relief and consolation he's been craving for, so much so that he moans into the side of Richard's neck, lavishing sloppy, desperate kisses on the skin the smell of which he has come to associate with something safe, almost homelike.

_"What the fuck?"_ Richard manages to put in before Paul relocates his mouth to his lips, muffling whatever else Richard was intending to say.

His mouth is still half open, with surprise, too, so it poses no difficultly for Paul to plunge his tongue inside, the taste of Richard so familiar he trembles with delight and relief and desire. It takes his lover a couple of heartbeats to come to grips with what has just happened and still continues to happen, and in that short while he allows Paul to drunkenly devour his mouth as he simultaneously pushes his pelvis against Richard's, humping his thigh, desperate to block out all the memories and worries and fears that have been torturing him these past couple of days. He knows Richard can help him do it, so Paul makes every effort to show his partner what exactly he needs from him tonight. They make out in the darkness of the hall for a while, Richard's hands finally coming down and ending up on Paul's ass, kneading his cheeks and helping him thrust against his thigh. Before they manage to proceed, though, Richard pulls away and before Paul has a chance to pounce back on him, his hands come to rest on both sides of his head, firmly holding him in place. His longish hair falls across his brow, so Richard blows the strands away, his breath landing on Paul's saliva smeared mouth and making him lean in again, desperately. 

"Richard," he hisses in dismay when his partner doesn't give in.

Richard's hands now slide down to the sides of his neck, warm and impossibly gentle, thumbs brushing along his jawbone.

" _Please_ ," Paul repeats, sounding miserably pitiful even to himself.

Damn, he is ready to beg if necessary. He'd do anything tonight to make Richard take this damn confusion and hurt away. Paul knows he can, what with that clever mouth of his and his cock, the right shape and size to make it hit his prostate perfectly each time they fuck.

"What's wrong, huh?" Richard asks instead, the stubborn fucker.

"Nothing's wrong, fuck's sake, I just want you," Paul mumbles but instead of another attempt to claim that prattling mouth, he lets his head drop onto Richard's shoulder, heavily. "Fucking need you. Fucking need you to fuck me," he repeats and lets out a drunken giggle, for some reason finding the phrase extremely hilarious.

_Shit, but he is tired._

"Hey, you're pisspot-drunk, buddy," Richard says with a sigh, sounding both a little annoyed and a little amused.

"So what if I am?" Paul retorts but, suddenly, he indeed feels he can barely keep his eyes open. Ruled by his stubborn nature, though, he makes another half-arsed attempt at seduction. "Please," he mutters and presses himself a bit more firmly into Richard, ending up drooling onto his shoulder rather than kissing it.

"Please what?" Richard chuckles, "Lead you to bed and let you sleep it off? Shit, you're all soaked, too. The fuck have you been doing?"

"Mmm," Paul hums incoherently, not really knowing anymore if it's really sleep that he needs most of all and not sex.

Funnily enough, once he's here in the secure hold of Richard's arms, feeling the so much craved solid presence of his body, it turns out he's not all that interested in taking it further as he initially planned. Or did he plan anything at all?

Richard apparently takes his silence for an agreement, and, with an annoyed huff, ushers Paul towards the bed, muttering something about insufferable dumbasses and shit o'clock under his breath. Paul agrees with him amiably enough and falls asleep before his head has a chance to touch the pillow, but still aware of Richard's arms pulling him into his bear hug, one Paul has become so hooked on over the time they've been acquainted and one he yearned for so unexpectedly desperately while Richard was away.

When he's woken up by the need to empty his bladder, it's still pitch-dark in the room, and Paul's grateful for that much. He doesn't know if Richard will have to kick him out early in the morning, and he dearly wishes he will not because there's something he needs to talk to him about even though there's little Richard can do to remedy the situation. Even so, he just hopes for some friendly support and… well, for this thing which Richard has an ability to invoke in him, a weird feeling of being home, of belonging, of things being where they should be. Paul thinks of it as he shakes the last droplets off, considerably more sober and with beginnings of a headache staring to kindle in the region of his temples. Apart from that, there's that now ever-present anxiety about his – and now not only his, which is even worse – future.

_Shit_ , so _he hasn't dreamt it, after all. Unfortunately._

How come his life has taken such an unexpected turn? And when did Richard start to take such a significant part in it, so much so that Paul's very first thought the moment the news of his prospects of becoming a father was broken to him was directed at no one other but Richard, a compulsive desire to run and find refuge in his arms.

When he is back in the room, it turns out the man in question is not asleep either.

"Come back 'ere," he says sleepily, holding the blanket invitingly drawn back.

Paul shivers as he slips beneath it and right into the security of Richard's embrace, shivers both from the temperature difference between the air in the room raising gooseflesh on his skin and the heat of Richard's totally naked body against his equally naked one, and with anticipation of what is to come, acute and irresistible. Hell, he's been dreaming about _this_ ever since the moment Richard abruptly disappeared from his life, when it wasn't certain whether he'd really made it to the West or was perhaps done for in the process. The latter assumption was particularly distressing, so neither Paul nor any of their mutual friends preferred to speculate on that possibility.

Presently, blocking his upsetting thoughts effectively enough, there are warm hands sliding possessively over his sides and stomach, and Paul cannot contain a moan of pleasure at finally being where he wants to be most of all. He wriggles in Richard's embrace until he is facing him, his leg hooking over Richard's thigh to secure him in place, fingers digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, and lips finding lips in a surprisingly slow and gentle kiss. Paul leans in into it eagerly, clinging to Richard with his entire body, responding to the unhurried motions of Richard's mouth but not taking the initiative, surrendering to Richard's will for a countless time knowing he's not making a mistake, no, never with this man. It feels liberating to be able to do so, to give in, to allow himself to let go of control and be taken on a trip into the fascinating pleasures Richard can offer him. This surrendering still feels like a novel experience, even despite the considerable amount of time they've been involved into this affair, sensational every single time they do it.

That first guy Paul slept with was okay but not what Paul needed, and he needed something he knew not what until he laid his eyes on Richard for the first time. It was confirmed on that first night they spent together, fumbled and messy and rather uncoordinated but so satisfying nonetheless. There was strength in Richard which was compromised by tenderness, his affectionate nature joining the relentlessness of his personality, which in bed made a combination which blew Paul's mind, making him virtually addicted to it from night one. And then he could also give Paul this physical intimacy, too, willing to satisfy his need for a masculine embrace.

Very ill-timed, there's another recollection resurfacing in Paul's mind, one too fresh to forget and which is one of the reasons he's come here seeking Richard in the middle of the night; that of the touch devoid of any kind of affection whatsoever, hands perhaps not purposefully wishing to inflict pain but not giving a single damn if they did. Paul's breath hitches in his throat because of the vividness of that unwanted image, his gasp vocalised, and Richard draws away immediately, eyes pinned to his, dark and searching. Paul pulls him back to his lips without saying anything, needing to remind himself that _this_ is different, needing to prove to himself that _this_ is all right and to wipe away those hateful memories that keep haunting him.

"I _need_ you," Paul murmurs, breathless, hands on Richard's cheeks.

"God, Paul," Richard exhales, just as short of breath, and claims Paul's mouth again.

There's still no clashing of teeth or fighting for dominance, no stinging lips and nips and bites, playful or passionate. This time, there's only tenderness, inexplicable but tangible, so much of it, soft lips and soft tongue, every single touch a caress full of… Paul doesn't know – cannot think coherently enough to analyse it – what it's full of, but he knows he's addicted to it hopelessly, to this affection Richard's able to give. This time, they are going to _make love_ , Paul knows, and it suits him perfectly fine.

"Make it good," he mumbles, so quietly he's not sure Richard can hear him properly, hoping he will, though, because he direly needs it to be good again.

"I will, baby," his lover murmurs and the ridiculous endearment goes straight to Paul's cock faster than anything else could, doing a good job of almost finishing him off right here.

That's some news, he never knew sweet talk could arouse him, but, then again, with Richard things Paul could never have dreamt of become vital to him. Or maybe it's not just the endearment itself, maybe it's the way it was said and the person who said it. It's always something else with Richard, something new and unexplored and so intense and profound Paul barely knows how to deal with these feelings but to let them overwhelm him. Just like with big waves, it's perhaps way more life-threatening to struggle against them than go with the flow, and it's not like Paul particularly wishes to struggle. Why would he when everything they do in bed feels this damn good? It's scary to analyse it because, Paul suspects, there's much more behind it all than he could have imagined in the beginning, and he doesn't want his life to become more complicated. It's already complicated enough as it is, what with the recent news he has got.

It evokes another surge of desperation in him, so Paul clings to his lover, wanting to crawl inside of him and dissolve in there, accommodate himself in the familiar heat of Richard's body. In the dusky room, on the bed which has seen better days, he allows Richard to slowly undo him bit by bit, taking down all his emotional defences, exposing him to the mixture of so many various sensations Paul is stupefied by their abundance and intensity. They take it slow – or, rather, Richard takes it slow because he's the one in control of everything tonight, Paul just his lucky passenger on this pleasure ride, moved around and entertained. He allows Richard to pin his hands above his head as the latter licks and kisses his way down from his temple over his cheeks and mouth to his throat and chest, Paul's saliva coated skin immediately covering with goosebumps. Paul bucks his hips seeking friction, dying to feel the heat of Richard's flesh alongside his own and the first slick drops, but the man shushes him, his moist palm soothing on Paul's feverishly hot cheek.

"Hold your horses," he whispers. "I'll make it so good you'll forever lose any stray thought of seeking anyone elsewhere."

His tone is carefree enough but Paul knows what stands behind it. Richard must still be royally pissed off at him for getting himself involved into that stupid encounter, even more so for Paul's holding back the identity of the guy. It is surprising how profound Richard's reaction to it is, but it's also exhilarating to experience his possessiveness, even though under any other circumstances and perhaps with another person Paul would be likely to get ticked off by such attitude.

"I need _you_ , Richard," he repeats earnestly, voice shaky with desire and god knows what other emotions.

Richard is apparently able to draw something from his tone because his mouth once again ends up on Paul's, this time accompanied by a throaty moan before it's muffled against Paul's lips and then there's Richard's tongue plunging in, with persistence which is relentless but weirdly gentle. Paul sucks it in, wishing Richard would do the same thing with another part of his body which has been begging attention, too.

And, as if having read his thoughts that it's about time – this ever-present chemistry allowing for such kind of unspoken communication between them, which is priceless not only in bed, but also when it comes to playing together – Richard does precisely what Paul wants him to. Slithering down his body, mouth barely leaving his skin, painting a saliva glistening trail across his heaving stomach, Richard lets his lips finally enclose the tip of Paul's aching dick, his tongue a teasing playful brush over its head. Paul barely has time to gasp from the intensity of the sensation when the mouth is gone and, instead, the said tongue draws a line along the underside of his shaft, down to his balls, wet and teasing, being subsequently substituted by Richard's hand which keeps leisurely sliding over his erection. A moment later, Paul feels the hot breath in his most private parts, and he can't help but buck towards Richard's wicked mouth, yearning for more contact and more sensation. He hears Richard huff, delighted from the sound of him, as he simultaneously spreads Paul's legs with hands firm on the backs of his thighs, urging him to lift them up and allow him more access.

It can hardly be said that Paul is in his right mind right now, what with those things Richard's doing down there, but he is still conscious enough to obey what is asked of him. Moaning softly, he pulls his knees to his chest, face suddenly burning so he hides it against one of his forearms, unable to look at what Richard's doing to him for the fear of bringing his release too soon, because if Richard licking his balls is not the sexiest sight on earth, there's no such thing at all.

With his almost obsessive meticulousness, Richard takes the task seriously, and after a while, there are no thoughts of problems, fears, yet unborn babies, abusive one-night stand partners or long separation left in Paul's mind. There are no thoughts at all but one single revelation pulsing in it with the brightness of neon signs on Broadway – he'd do damn near anything to have this thing done to him by Richard all the time. All the rest is burning desire, the need for release so strong he's reduced to a moaning, pleading, shaking heap of flesh and bone.

Richard stops his ministrations just when Paul is about to shamelessly whimper to him to fuck him at last because he absolutely cannot bear this anymore. For a short while, his mouth is back on Paul's, and the latter clutches at his lover for dear life, wordlessly letting him know just how exactly he feels about it all, his gratitude and desire and fondness and that unnamed mixture of feelings which are evoked every time he feels Richard's eyes on himself, feelings which have driven him here in the middle of the night in the first place. He's got no idea if Richard interprets them right, but his own response is just as intense, body on top of Paul's, pressed tightly together, arms wrapped around Paul's shoulders, mouth fluttering all over his face in sloppy, wet, passionate kisses until it ends up right against Paul's ear, moist and soft, tongue teasing his earring, hot breath making Paul shiver and whimper some more.

"You want me to…?" Richard murmurs, voice also strained as if he, too, is on the edge, and that very well might be.

Even so, Paul appreciates this barely articulated question. The last night they spent together, a sort of a rough making up session after Richard's long absence, quick and fumbled, and Paul's subsequent lashing out at him, was not particularly all right no matter how much Paul wanted to believe so. Yet he still needs this as it seems Richard's the only one who can make it right again, take the anxiety away and bring back the pleasure.

"Need you to," Paul responds, just as shakily, and spreads his legs further apart, giving Richard his permission.

Instead of any coherent reply, Richard only moans, a moment later scampering haphazardly off the bed and towards the chest of drawers in the other corner of the room in all his butt-naked glory. It gives Paul a chance to breathe and wind down somewhat, which is good because he was already so close that one single touch from Richard might have set him off way past the point of no return. Paul doesn't want that, he wants this night to never end at all, wants to make the two of them remain right here in Richard's bed, forever, in the warm security and safety of his arms, sheltered from whatever happens in the world outside, and, shit, it seems there has been happening way too much for his liking.

Richard's back to him a few moments later, and before he accommodates himself in that comfortable spot between Paul's still spread legs, Paul catches a few glimpses of him, the darkness and the scarce light falling in through the uncurtained window turning his already deliciously built body into a marble perfection, toned and agile, muscles playing a visual symphony as he moves around.

"Jesus Christ almighty," Paul mutters, wanting him desperately, wanting to touch him, feel him, taste him, own him, _now_ , right at this very moment, all of him, all for himself.

"I had no idea I needed you this much," Richard gasps, and the next second a gasp is torn out of Paul's throat because, finally, he feels what he's been yearning to feel this past week, what he yearned all those long lonely months before that, what he yearned on that night he was manhandled by that security guy, on that night especially.

Despite their combined urgency, Richard is in no hurry this time around, sliding inside slowly and smoothly, allowing Paul enough time to adjust and never ceasing his hand's minute stroking on Paul's cock, now slick with both his pre-cum and a touch of lube. It's a struggle to keep his eyes open but Paul manages, never breaking the visual contact with Richard, and it feels absolutely surreal again, the very air between them electrified, crackling with unreleased tension that's been accumulating for way too long, all the while they were apart and couldn't be with each other the way both craved to be.

Somewhere at the very back of his mind, Paul wonders, astounded and mesmerised, what kind of bond they're forging now, doing this, giving themselves away to each other; what kind of bond it is that makes them crave _this_ so compulsively, and what they will do about it in the future, whether they'll be able to do anything about it at all; but then all coherent train of thought is derailed when Richard's cock finally brushes the right spot, making sparks burst in tiny fireworks in front of Paul's eyes, and then, at last, he slips them shut, unable to withstand the pleasure anymore.

It's slow until the very end, Richard's movements precise and regular, dragging the sweet agony until Paul can't take it anymore, when it becomes truly too much, so much it almost feels like a torment; _almost_ , but not quite, the best torment he's ever been subjected to. In the end, he pulls Richard down, clumsily because of their position, lifting his head up to meet Richard's lips half-way, feeling his lover's arms sneaking under his shoulders to hold him where he is whilst still fucking him, slowly, thoroughly, holding the rhythm so damn well Paul can barely breathe, soaked in sweat and thrashing in Richard's embrace.

"Richard," he hisses, almost choking on the sounds but still repeating his name like an endless refrain, like a prayer, hands cupping Richard's cheeks, lips, half-parted, on Richard's lips, rocked gently but relentlessly towards his release. " _Please_."

" _Mine_ ," Richard replies in kind, just as winded, "You're mine, Paul."

His voice is hushed but the strength of his desire in it is so palpable it gives Paul that gentle nudge into the brilliance of his building orgasm.

When he comes at last, clenching around Richard, spurting in between their stomachs, he comes with Richard's name on his lips, his mouth on Richard's mouth, Richard's dick in his ass, and that choked, _'Mine'_ seemingly finding its way deep into his heart and staying there, making it all warm and fuzzy, making it crave Richard with what seems like his very innermost essence. He comes hard and pulls Richard after himself into the bliss of their mutual release.

They remain entangled into one another's limbs for an undefinable period of time until one of Paul's arms gets unpleasantly numb and he is forced to shift his position a little to let the blood flow back to his fingers. They roll over the expanse of the bed, over the twisted sheets and all the mess they've created, sweat and spunk and whatnot, still holding on to each other until Paul ends up on top of Richard, his front flush against Richard's chest and stomach and with his face, hot and sweaty, nuzzled into the crook of his lover's neck. He feels Richard's lips land a little clumsily close to the corner of his eye, arms tightening their hold around his middle for a brief moment.

"You're the best lover I've ever had," Paul murmurs softly, unable to keep back this ridiculous sentiment for the life of him. Ridiculous though it may sound, it is also true, so he doesn't really regret saying it out loud.

When the only thing that he hears in response is an ever so soft, throaty groan which sounds more like one of pain rather than pleasure, he has to make an effort and give Richard a puzzled glance, wondering if he's just crossed some line here, after all. Yet, once his questioning gaze meets Richard's, the latter simply pulls him back down to his lips, and this kiss is all the answer Paul needs, full of barely curbed passion along with that astounding tenderness that's been permeating every single thing they've done tonight.

"That was the best sex I've ever had," Richard whispers. "Every single time with you is."

The hushed tone and the brush of his lips against Paul's as he speaks, and the intensity of his hold, and the heat of his body, his hitched breath, every little thing, all of it, does something forbidden to Paul. It's fluttery and fuzzy and, damn, so, so good he doesn't want to wake up from this dream.

"Paul," Richard calls when he, not quite able to withstand the whirl of emotions, simply nuzzles his face into Richard's regularly rising chest, silently.

"Huh?" he hums.

"What was all this about?" his lover asks, his fingers lazily running through his mussed damp hair.

"'twas about the best sex of your life," Paul huffs, purposefully avoiding the topic.

He did need Richard to make him forget all about that damn incident he had, but talking about it is not exactly what he sought.

"You know what I mean," Richard sighs but, thankfully, he sounds reconciled and not all that worked up. "Still wouldn't tell me the name of that guy?"

"Fuck's sake, Richard, I told you--" Paul starts, and now it's him who's annoyed in the blink of an eye, but he's not allowed to finish because he's shut up by Richard's lips on his own.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry, okay?" he whispers, accentuating every word with a kiss, surprising Paul and perhaps even himself with his own patience. "I'm sorry. Won't raise the topic again."

"I just don't need you going around screwing people's heads off. And don't tell me it won't happen, I know you will," Paul huffs.

"Well, yeah, because I don't want some pathetic asshole doing any harm to someone I call my friend."

"Your friend is an idiot," Paul sighs. "I knew what I was risking doing that kind of thing."

"You might be but, in that case, you're _my_ idiot, no one else's," Richard replies softly, echoing his own words from a while before, and his arms tighten their hold around Paul's shoulders possessively. This, too does things to Paul, mentally and physically. "Don't want you hurt. Not gonna let anyone mess with you like that."

In response to this, Paul only stares back at Richard, mainly because he's unable to come up with anything to answer with as what he's just said sounded very and dangerously close to some kind of love confession. Yet the only emotion it evokes in Paul is not fear, no, it's never fear with Richard. The emotion is delight so profound that all he can do is look back at him through the dissipating gloom of the fading night, look at him and marvel at how fast they've got here, marvel at how differently he feels with Richard as opposed to that unfortunate girlfriend of his he's knocked up, at how much righter it feels to be with Richard, lay with him, talk to him, than with anyone else he's ever been with. He swallows with difficulty, not able to draw his eyes away from those of his friend and lover, and lifts his fingers to draw a caress along his well-defined cheekbone, almost reverently so.

He thinks he understands what exactly is happening here but is at a loss whether it's in his power to do anything about it and whether there's a need for something to be done. All there is left for him, it seems, is to go with the flow, let this unexpected affair, so intense and satisfying at the same time, follow its own course. Because he certainly doesn't want to do anything about it. What he does want is _this_ , to feel the intimacy and relish the weird kind of mutual understanding they've found, the solidness of Richard's warm body next to his, skin on skin, and the secure hold of his arms, moments like this, quiet or passionate, the two of them nicked away from anyone's prying eyes, and it doesn't really matter what they do outside the bedroom, whether they agree or disagree on certain things, as long as there is this tiny bubble of serenity in the hustle and bustle of their lives.

"There's actually another thing," Paul finally says, ever so quietly, and drops his eyes.

"Which thing?" Richard asks just as softly, but Paul can detect suspicion in his voice and a little frown on his forehead, as if he's waiting for Paul to tell him yet another story of his disastrous sex adventures in shady Berlin bars. This time, though, fortunately – or unfortunately, he hasn't decided yet – it's not that.

"I got a girlfriend of mine pregnant," he sighs, feeling utterly miserable even despite the still fresh afterglow of their lovemaking. It's fading away quickly as the reality kicks right back in.

Richard's frown gets a bit more prominent but now it's compromised by his confused look.

"Well, congratulations, I guess?" he says. "Or it's not quite like that, huh?"

Paul huffs and closes his eyes for a moment.

"I don't know," he scowls. "I'm… It's just…"

"You don't know how on earth it happened, huh?" Richard actually smirks up at him.

"There's nothing funny about it, Richard," Paul sighs. "I can't say I'm on cloud nine because of the news, but I guess it doesn't matter a single damn what I wanted or what I want anymore. Shit…"

Upon hearing this, Richard sighs, too, sounding both amused and exasperated once again, and rolls them on the mattress so that Paul is snuggled beside him.

"Is your middle name trouble, by any chance?" he murmurs. "I've been absent for a few months, and you end up getting your skinny little ass into nasty adventures at some pissant club and knock up a girl you apparently don't give a damn about."

"Well, I'll have to give a damn now…" Paul mutters, breathing in the scent of Richard's skin, inhaling it deeply as if it could drown out all his sorrows. "Can't imagine myself being a father, though."

"Too late for kicking yourself now, don't you think?" Richard asks softly and it's annoying that he sounds so reasonable. Since when has he become the reasonable one? "You'll do just fine," he says.

"How the fuck do you know? It's not like adopting a dog or something."

"You going to marry her?" Richard asks instead.

"Don't think so. Will have to stick around for the kid's sake, though."

"Well, that doesn't sound too tragic then. And kids are cool." 

"How do you know, you don't have any," Paul retorts, a bit irritated that Richard seems to be taking the news so lightly. But then again, it's not him who's landed himself in such a mess.

"You don't have any either, yet, so you also can't know," he points out against the top of Paul's head. "Till does, and he seems to be doing just fine. Let's just hope yours will take after the mom."

"Why's that?" Paul asks, bristling a little.

"Because if there're gonna be two of you, one a toddler, we're all doomed," Richard laughs quietly.

"Asshole."

Paul sticks his fingers playfully between Richard's ribs, but he can't hold back a genuine chuckle, either.

And this is another reason why Paul was driven to seek no one else but this man, in the middle of the night, rain-soaked, sloshed and miserable. It's true, Richard is the one who is capable of being a royal pain in the ass, his headstrong opinions on certain things and his occasional pig-headedness be damned, but he is also the one who has the ability to make everything so much better just by being there. And then there is the way he makes Paul feel, while holding him or fucking him or being on the receiving end of it, or saying something ridiculous, or just grinning at Paul with that slightly crooked grin of his which, for some reason, looks shy most of the time, even though shyness is not the word to be used around Richard at all. And just like that, instantaneously, the world around seems to brighten considerably and problems which seemed burdening just a while ago miraculously solve themselves.

"Clingy fuck," Richard retorts fondly while pulling Paul even closer.

"I'll punch you if you say you don't like it," Paul mumbles contentedly and, in contrast to what he's just said, rubs himself lightly against Richard's hip, his flaccid dick finding a cosy nook to nestle in the crease of Richard's groin.

"And that's my thanks for saying I don't want him hurt," Richard laments, not sounding a tad upset. "Does that give you the right to hurt me whenever the hell you please?"

It makes Paul lift his head just enough to give Richard a look through the almost dissipated darkness. A quarter of an hour later, and it'll be dawn. He studies Richard silently, searching his face he knows not what for, suddenly remembering that hushed _'I'll never hurt you'_ whispered in the darkness of the night a week or so ago, the odd sort of sincerity in Richard's voice making something tighten in Paul's stomach. It wasn't desire, not then. Once again, Paul cups Richard's cheek, thumb brushing the skin slightly coarse with stubble, and then shakes his head minutely, in response to Richard's previous question.

"Let's get away to somewhere for the weekend?" he asks softly, still somewhat mesmerised by the affectionate look in Richard's eyes. "Ostsee or something?"

Richard snorts and rolls his eyes. "It's mid-December, Paul. You want to freeze your balls off out there at the coast? Think you've accomplished the deed of procreation and now there's no need for them anymore, huh? If so, I have an objection."

Paul can't help it; he laughs out loud dropping his head back onto Richard's chest. "I'll never hear the end of it now, huh?"

"End of what?"

"End of you making fun of me for it?"

"As long as it makes you laugh," Richard says and the smile is perceptible in his voice. "I missed you there in the West," he adds suddenly, voice ever so soft. "No smartass around to make my life unbearable with his unasked-for advice."

"Mmm," Paul hums. "You only missed my valuable advice and that's it?"

He knows what he's doing, he's flirting with Richard shamelessly, provoking him to say it, put what he's feeling in words, but maybe that's all right. After all, it was him who started this affair in the first place. They've never talked about it, but he suspects Richard would hardly have taken the first step himself, so perhaps it's all right to go on provoking him further, flirting or otherwise, for as long as it makes them both smile.

"All them things I missed," Richard says quietly, simultaneously pushing Paul onto his back, to his profound delight. "Wouldn't mind showing you more of them."

*****

**Richard**

*****

"Hey, sleepyhead?" Richard calls as he leans over Paul, who's lying sprawled on his stomach, his body only partly covered by the blanket. "You planning on doing it for the rest of the day?"

In response, his lover hums something unintelligible, apparently still not quite awake to be able to either process what he hears or articulate whatever he wants to say properly enough. At the same time, though, he's not too sleepy to shift subtly over the mattress, thus effectively pushing his backside against Richard's hip and making the latter smirk.

"You look like a sorry stray cat that's taken residence in my bed," he murmurs, not sure to Paul or to himself, and lets his palm stroke the sleeping man from his neck down over his shoulder blade and across his back to the little pale ass, firm to the touch and sinfully tempting.

Paul hums again, this time in unmistakable appreciation, and Richard repeats the action in fascination, taking the return route and, at the end of the journey, burying his fingers into Paul's tousled hair. It's out of his ponytail, the hairband lost elsewhere, so Richard ruffles it further, massaging the back of his head. Paul reacts by producing a curious sound and then pushes his head towards Richard's hand, indeed not unlike a cat demanding a caress.

"Coffee's ready, you walking disaster," Richard says with a little smile, now stroking Paul's temple with his thumb.

In his head, he wonders how come Paul's wrapped him around his little finger so fast and so securely, so much so that, here he is, taking the insolent fool, drunken and soaked, into his bed in the middle of the night, soothing him till he finally passes out while apparently trying to choke the living lights out of Richard in his sleep, and now practically bringing him breakfast in bed, all of that done with a foolish smile plastered to his face. It doesn't feel all too bad, though, so Richard gives thinking about it a miss.

"There's some Aspirin, too," he adds. "Thought you might want that given how pissed you were when you barged in last night."

"Uh-huh," Paul finally manages the most coherent thing he's said since Richard came in to wake him up.

Then he reaches blindly backwards, his arm clumsily brushing Richard's shoulder as he makes a not particularly successful attempt at pulling him down to himself.

"Come here," he finally sighs.

Richard can't help but do what's asked of him, Paul's drowsy voice sounding too compelling to disobey, and, predictably, he ends up with an armful of a warm wry body, his mouth on Paul's, supple and languid but unmistakably eager, their tongues dancing a slow number together. Richard pulls back when he feels a stir in his groin, wishing he could just stay here with Paul all day long, but he's got an appointment to make. He's not late yet but he might be if they take it much further.

"You smell like you're in dire need of a shower," Richard grins, reluctantly moving back.

"Aw, fuck off," Paul huffs and wrinkles his nose, and on the spur of the moment, Richard kisses it, not able to help it for the life of him. It should be illegal to look this ridiculously charming on a morning when, by rights, the little brat should be nursing a hell of a hangover.

Paul opens his eyes a moment later to finally give Richard a squinting look. Thankfully, so far, it's seemingly devoid of the last night's dismay.

"Hey, handsome," he murmurs with a soft smile on his lips, hand relocating to mess with the hair on the side of Richard's head. "Come back here for a moment," he says and pulls Richard down to himself again, into an embrace which is tight but without any wanton connotation, just holding him there against his chest.

"Hey now, that won't do," Richard says with a sigh and moves back after a while. "Come on."

"You're leaving?" Paul mumbles, his lips moist on Richard's, refusing to move an inch away.

He doesn't resist Richard's arms pulling him up, though, still wrapped securely around his shoulders.

"Not yet," Richard shakes his head minutely and kisses those unrelenting lips again, briefly. "Come on," he repeats, now sitting while still hugging Paul. "I'll take care of the rest. You need a shower, told you."

With some unenthusiastic protest, Paul obeys and allows Richard to pull him up to his feet, and the latter leads him to the bathroom, arms still wrapped around Paul's sleep-warm body.

It's not that Richard's apprehensive the man might stumble or fall or just sneak back to bed should he let him go; the reason he can't take his hands off Paul is that it seems beyond his ability to do. He did miss him while being away from Berlin, and it's true that one of his first thoughts upon coming back here was about seeing him again, not only because the sex had been good, but also because Paul had somehow managed to crawl under his skin, becoming a friend along with being a lover and occasional bandmate. Yet, the intensity of the whirlpool of emotions that is suddenly sucking him in is nothing short of bewildering. He didn't just want to see Paul, hell, he craved his presence, and the cold shoulder along with the split lip he was given upon their meeting hurt surprisingly profoundly. Till might or might not have been right implying there were some more serious feelings involved, on his part anyway, but one thing is certain – somehow, this insufferable little piece of shit had grown on to him.

Another surprise came in the face of Paul's unexpected revelation about his unfortunate sexual adventure, and once again, it was the intensity of hurt which befuddled Richard most of all, the fit of jealousy nigh on suffocating every time he as much as imagined someone else's hands on Paul, let alone hands inflicting harm. Richard's still mad at all of them, Paul for doing such stupid things and being so fucking careless, even more so at that bugger, whoever he is, for daring to hurt Paul, and no matter how stubbornly Paul claims it didn't affect him all that much, Richard knows better – has read just how much he _is_ affected in Paul's body language.

So now, whilst he's walking the man in question towards the bathroom, the only thing he desperately wants to do is to make a claim. He knows it's absurd, there can be no claims, they just sleep with each other and are free to do whatever the hell they want with the rest of their time, yet he still wishes Paul was only his to have. Paul's women don't bother him at all, but as far as other men are concerned… Possessive much, perhaps, but what can you do if the idiot manages to find trouble when there's no call for it. And besides that, Richard genuinely wants to keep making it good for Paul, because, yes, they have become friends, improbable as it is with their clashing personalities. It's also hard not to want to after what he experienced last night, Paul's hands on his cheeks, pulling him to his mouth, pleading him in a frenzied fit of the rushing orgasm. He's unlikely to have had an encounter which was more satisfying than this one, more intimate in ways Richard hasn't even understood yet. So he doesn't mind this slow, perhaps way too affectionate, way they're starting this morning, loving to give as much as take, and it looks like Paul's in dire need of being given something special right now.

In the bathroom, behind the flimsy curtain, he does his best to wake the man up in the best way he knows how to. In the warm streams running down from the shower nozzle above them, Richard presses Paul to the wall, complementing the pouring currents of water by showering him with kisses.

Now that the Wall is down, new goods have started to be brought into the country from the west, and Richard takes particular pleasure in rubbing imported shampoo into Paul's bleached hair, whipping up foam and spreading it in a slippery film all over his slim body, his mouth almost never leaving Paul's. Just like the night before, the pace is slow, which allows them to enjoy the languidness of the morning properly. At the back of Richard's mind, there's awareness that he'll most probably be late now, but he decides he could live with that. What he absolutely couldn't live without is these kisses Paul's giving him, sensual and oh so very soft.

Richard feels Paul smile into their kiss, and, somehow, it's one of the most gratifying things he's ever felt as far as love affairs are concerned – being able to get a first-hand experience of the joy of the other person, through a smile pressed against his own lips. In Paul's case, that smile is also nothing short of charming, and some part of Richard, which he doesn't particularly like to acknowledge, understands on purely reasonable level just how Paul even managed to sneak his way into clubs and bars for free, or why that security guy behaved the way he did towards him, or why girls keep giving him utterly lovestruck looks again and again. That smile of his, when applied with certain personal touch – and Paul surely knows how to – can leave few people indifferent.

Richard's certainly not one of them, so feeling that trademark grin on his own lips does things to him on physical and emotional level, things he is barely able to handle, let alone understand properly. He presses his body into Paul's instead, trapping the latter securely against the wall, and thrusts himself along Paul's now prominent erection, whining softly into his mouth because of the sheer pleasure of it all, the intimacy and the pure delight evoked by what they are doing.

There's a sensation of falling in the pit of his stomach, making him weak in the knees and leaving him clinging to Paul for dear life, holding him as well as holding on to him, and it's good for him that he is because the next moment Paul's hand ends up encircling his dick, gently but firmly, one and a half years of practice and the strength of a guitarist's fingers combined making the touch so perfectly right that Richard groans into Paul's half-parted lips, water streaming into his open mouth and mixing with his and Paul's saliva. In response, Richard slides his own hand down, over the expanse of Paul's back and the hard, protruding, bones of his spine and hip until it reaches what Richard craves to touch most of all, and this time it's Paul's turn to gasp. They start to move in unison, matching each other's tempo perfectly, and there's a stray thought in Richard's head that this is why they're so good together whilst playing, that this is the connection which facilitates the chemistry they seem to share on stage whenever they end up jamming together. And then it seems so ridiculous he laughs out, muffling the sound against Paul's cheek.

"What's so funny?" Paul inquires, his voice already strained and breathless.

Without waiting for a reply, though, he uses his thumb to rub along the underside of Richard's dick up to his slit, and Richard's laugh instantaneously transforms into a choked moan of pleasure. Richard just shakes his head, forehead pressed to Paul's, and kisses him again, matching the rhythm of his and Paul's hand movements with his tongue, pushing it into his lover's accommodating mouth repeatedly. The latter hums in appreciation, thrusting into Richard's hand, his fingers in Richard's hair not allowing him to move away, keeping their mouths sealed together. He comes a few strokes later, still moaning into Richard's mouth, sounds muffled but desperate, reverberating through Richard's lips, so he presses them more firmly together, craving to steal for himself even these vibrations until the last drops of Paul's semen spurt from the swollen flesh he's holding in his hand with such reverence as if it was some sacred relic.

Paul's hand ceases its ministrations on his dick while he's shuddering through the pleasurable throes of his orgasm, but once it's over, he surprises Richard by sliding smoothly down onto his knees in front of him, fingers digging into his hips for support. The sight which opens to him makes Richard hold his breath, already erratic as it is. Paul's bleached hair is plastered to his head in some places and sticking out wildly in others, which, in combination with his utterly crazed, heavy-lidded gaze, gives him a mildly insane but nevertheless absolutely dazzling look. His face is all wet and his lips, reddish and puffy from their long make-out session, are glistening in the water, lips which already open up on their way to take Richard in their welcoming velvety heat. Paul's hand holding his engorged dick is firm and steady, the other one fondling his balls is gentle and knowing, and when the first brush of Paul's tongue lands against Richard's slit, he can't quite keep his eyes open anymore.

One arm propped into the wall, the fingers of the other in Paul's hair, he can't help but thrust into the inviting softness of Paul's mouth, which sucks him in greedily. It doesn't take him long, sadly, because he'd be glad to be doing this for hours if only he could, but when he comes, he forces his eyes open just to be met with Paul's gaze, darkened with lust and intense. He can't interpret everything there is in it, there's just too much feeling swimming in that darkness, but he's certain about the extent of desire in them, and it's what's pushes him into the abyss, the knowledge of being wanted by Paul just this much, knowledge that he's eager to take all Richard gives him till the very last drop of it.

" _Oh shit_ ," he murmurs on the exhale, shuddering, and there it is, the momentary tension and the subsequent relief and the pleasure and the rush of emotions so strong he can barely keep on his feet.

He manages, though, pulling Paul up into his arms once he's more or less caught his breath, and hugs him to his chest, tightly. Paul's arms are around him a moment later as he clings to him for dear life, Paul's lips on his shoulder, touching but not kissing, just there, an open-mouthed caress which seems to go straight to Richard's heart.

They spend a long while like that, embracing in the hot streams of water, without saying anything or moving a single limb. There's the steady thudding of Paul's heart palpable against Richard's own chest, gradually slowing down to its normal pace, and it's one of the most delightful things Richard's ever experienced, this regular _thump-thump_ so close, the firm press of Paul's palms on his back, fingers splayed over his skin, and the slightly prickly touch of his chin on his shoulder compromised by the warm softness of his lips. When even the afterglow of their release has subsided almost completely, Richard lets out a contented sigh, presses a firm kiss on Paul's temple and reaches out to switch off the water. Paul's arms tighten their hold on him immediately, not letting him move away. It makes something warm blossom in Richard's chest, the feeling of contentedness and belonging making him go weak in the knees all over again. He smirks faintly and grabs a towel from the wall rack, wraps it around Paul's shoulders, the man not seemingly intending to let go of him anytime soon, and wipes his hair and shoulders dry, not able to help kissing that tempting, searching mouth now and again. Paul responds to him willingly but just as languidly, a small contented smile of his own playing on his lips.

"It'll be okay," Richard whispers into his ear, to his relief feeling Paul nod minutely in response. "Just please stop getting yourself into trouble, will you?"

"I never wanted trouble", Paul replies, just as quietly but in the enclosed space of the small bathroom and with the water turned off, it is loud enough for Richard to tell genuineness in his voice.

Richard only pulls him closer, silently.

"Thanks for…" Paul falters for a fleeting moment. "For _this_."

"I'm glad you came to me, you know…" Richard says, so softly it's practically a whisper, and he means it.

"Not sure there's anyone or anywhere else I could've gone to," Paul murmurs, and the quiet conviction in his voice makes Richard squeeze his eyes tight because this is finally too much, the pleasure so acute it borders on becoming a torment, creating something which is utterly addictive and simply impossible to either overcome or merely resist.

They stand like this for a while, enclosed in the cramped humid bathroom, and when Richard makes an attempt to step away, he finds out he just cannot, not yet, as if there's some gravitational force drawing him back to Paul immediately. He ends up with his forehead pressed to Paul's once more, noses touching, as he feels Paul's thumb brush over his almost completely healed lip, testament of the man's sometimes a bit too fiery nature.

"'m sorry for this," he mutters, which is followed by a click in his throat.

"Why did you do that?" Richard asks, remembering perfectly well what Till told him, knowing the explanation was reasonable enough, yet still needing to hear what Paul has to say all the same. "I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"I missed you like hell all the while you were away," Paul says, sounding resigned. "No one even knew if you were alive, so we stopped speculating about it thinking that maybe you'd never return. And then there you were, strutting into that bar as if you owned the fucking world, and I swear I wanted to throttle you with my own hands for…" Paul trails off with a shrug. "For leaving like that."

"I'm back now," Richard says, placing a kiss on Paul's cheek as a confirmation.

"Uh-huh."

"Not gonna go anywhere," he goes on, not sure why the hell he's saying it.

In response, Paul only smirks softly.

"Missed you too, buddy," Richard exhales, feeling there should be more to say but he's suddenly unable to utter another word.

So he just kisses Paul firmly, full on the mouth, instead. Perhaps, there's little need for voicing anything at all when their bodies can speak more clearly and eloquently than words, the language of touch and caress capable of expressing more profoundly everything they feel anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> More revelations from both idiots :) Continuation of the Home thingie, inspired by 'Push the Sky Away' by Mr Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds and mid-July thunderstorms in Berlin.


End file.
